


Volume 1: The Phantomhive Archives

by pearypie



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Ciel is sassy and snarky, F/M, Fluff, Historical Reenactment, Humor, Mentions of Ciel's descendants
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2018-08-15 02:51:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8039575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearypie/pseuds/pearypie
Summary: 1972: an unnamed historian publishes a series of firsthand letters, documents, and accounts writ by the most notorious family in Victorian London, the Phantomhives. "A haunting, darkly devious collection of letters and notes written by a man history has marked as the 'villainous noble'...his demands are unnerving and his eloquence, chilling; but beneath this facade of enigmatic coolness lies a complex, contradictory figure who history itself seems fascinated with." - Frederick Taylor, The New York Times "I can't think of a better representation of Victorian letter writing than 'The Phantomhive Archives'. It reads like a gothic novel and when you're done, you can't help but wonder what it would've been like to have tea served to you by Sebastian Michaelis all the while knowing he's probably assisted his master with murder." - John Carpenter, The Atlantic Monthly "It's amazing that, after having read these letters, you learn that the Queen's Watchdog was almost a Byronic anti-hero...[with] an unrelentingly selfish streak that is never better represented than when he confesses his love to the Lady Elizabeth or interacts with his ever present butler, Sebastian." - Theodora Visitor, The Boston Globe





	1. In the Whirling Light

**JUNE, 1972**

 

_In recent years, the mystery surrounding Victorian London’s most infamous character, the covert operations executor of Queen Victoria, Ciel Phantomhive, has slowly begun to be brought to light. In 1946, a year after the Allied victory of WWII, the late earl’s equally enigmatic grandson, Vincent Phantomhive II, donated a chest of previously sealed documents to the Royal Historical Society (University College London, Gower St; hours upon request). Though several of the documents had been tarnished or cleverly altered by a skilled hand (most likely Phantomhive’s youngest son, Maixent, a celebrated historian in his own right, known for his dramatic first hand accounts of trench warfare during WWI), many of the letters, journal entries, and business correspondence telegrams remain astonoishly well preserved._

_Phantomhive’s widow (celebrated society hostess and founder of London’s largest private orphanage, Seraph’s Hall) Lady Elizabeth Phantomhive (née, Midford) was a key figure in accumulating and organizing her late husband’s documents, both private and public. It was she who outlined the structural form for_ A Passing Phrase, _now a mainstay in university lecture halls everywhere, for depicting the elegant art of late 19th century letter writing._

_Yet this letter below, donated by Lady Cordelia Simmons (née, Midford), provides an astounding glimpse into the heart of the notorious earl. Better known for his Machiavellian methods and ruthless rise in the conglomerate world, Lord Phantomhive penned this defensive, derisive, and hesitatingly honest letter to his soon-to-be brother-in-law, Lord Edward Midford, then earl of Lindsey. Though the two men held an indifferent—and oftentimes bitter—disposition towards one another, this letter illustrates the tender workings of the Watchdog’s mind as he attempts to reassure (or better yet, to reassert) his devotion towards Lord Midford’s younger sister, Lady Elizabeth, his bride-to-be:_

 

My lord Midford,

I entreat you to understand that though you may be my lady’s brother, I shall soon be her husband and wish, as per her command, to end this animosity between us—if only for her peace of mind. I bear you no great distinction but offer you a chance to understand the manner with which I operate. I do not concede defeat out of respect but of vexation; there are crevices and passages of sable deceit I could use to convince you of my suitability for your sister but that, I believe, would be duplicitous. And—you are an ever ardent believer of virtue, are you not?

Nevertheless, I shall attempt to address matters that I believe you are unconscious of. While I dislike explaining myself to anyone, I cannot think of any reason why I ought to deny my fiancée’s request. You doubt my devotion towards her? Fine, so be it. I cannot fault you for thinking otherwise. I find gaudy displays of emotion a horrendous and fabricated thing; something so closely linked to that cretinous viscount that, should I behave similarly, would dishonor both myself and your sister. And since, Lord Midford, you are unattached at the moment, might I offer you some free advice? Talk less. Smile more. Perhaps then you might find yourself in a situation where your concern would fall more firmly on yourself and your intended rather than on myself and my betrothed.

She once entreated me to spend an afternoon dining with you using the words _a fine few hours of respite._ Though my Lady Elizabeth possesses a disposition warmer than sunshine, I cannot help but think she is too naive in her belief of shared commonality. I say this with apathetic indifference Lord Midford—I don’t care much for cricket. This, I understand, will not endear me to you but I am not obligated to do anything for you. The singular affection of my heart has been placed on one person and one person alone. Elizabeth has bound herself to me and, in doing so, I have found myself increasingly inclined to please her. Though I have never counted her smiles, I have begun to keep track of the hours in which I see her and now memorize, with inexplicable devotion, the sound of her lark swift voice when she says something clever or amusing—which is almost always.

She is my darling: difficult, temperamental—but my darling still.

I believe that, Lord Midford, is all the reassurance you need. The sincerity of my being is a borrowed element, one siphoned from Elizabeth and all her joyous charms. She gives me virtue and I, through some strange art, manage to grant her happiness. (Though I am, as always, enchanted by the flowing complexity of her love.) 

We may not always (and indeed, may never) stand on common ground but I should think Elizabeth is reason enough for shared cordiality.

 

Regards,

Lord C. Phantomhive, Earl Phantomhive, the _Queen’s Watchdog_

 

PS. If you find yourself unable to attend the wedding, please keep the enclosed place card. Seating is a very tedious thing to manage.

 

 _When reading this letter, it is important to note the various artifices the earl uses in disguising the sincerity of his words. His frequent abuse of Lord Midford’s character (“I bear you no great distinction”) coupled with his not-so-subtle attacks on his brother-in-law's character (“And since, Lord Midford, you are unattached…talk less. Smile more. Perhaps then you might find yourself…[an] intended”) underscore Phantomhive’s defense mechanism and reluctance to admit any emotional truth regarding his upcoming marriage to the Lady Elizabeth. Yet in spite of his frequent caustic soundbites, the earl’s tender and winsomely endearing confession, “She [Lady Elizabeth] is my darling: difficult, temperamental—but my darling still”, became a literary quote incorporated by 20th century author Vladimir Nabokov into his 1962 novel,_ Pale Fire.

 _It has been noted by many a historian that the earl and his wife shared a hidden but loving relationship that produced some of history’s greatest figures. Firstborn son Gabriel Phantomhive went on to acquire majority shares of the Macy’s department store in 1915, building a retail empire rivaling that of Karl-Johan Persson’s H &M. Younger brother Maixent fought in WWI and later wrote several books—including the Pulitzer Prize winning _Ashfield _—vividly describing the menial, day-to-day labors of trench soldiers. He later collaborated with his cousin, Rupert Midford, to compile together a series of letters exchanged between his parents, from 1880 (using correspondence writ by his paternal and maternal grandparents) to 1900, the earl’s death at the age of 25 from a gunshot wound to the heart.*_

_The Phantomhive legacy is carried on today by Vincent Phantomhive II, Earl Phantomhive, chairman and chief executive of The Funtom Corporation, and his two sisters, Elizabeth and Angelina Phantomhive._

 

_*Please see Appendix B, Section 108 for a copy of the medical prognosis._

 

* * *

 

_Note: all articles, letters, and archive files are donated gifts from the Phantomhive and Midford families to the Royal Historical Society. Other letters can be found at the Cambridge University Historical Department and the Glasgow Archives. Gracious thanks and gratitude to Lord Vincent Phantomhive II and Lady Cordelia Simmons for their generous proceeds._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Title comes from Arthur Rimbaud's poem 'Eternity' 
> 
> \- "might I offer you some free advice.." — more Hamilton references for y'all. 
> 
> \- “She is my darling…” — adapted from a line writ by Vladimir Nabokov. 
> 
> A/N: Idk where this historical fiction piece came from but man oh man was it fun to write XD


	2. The Lavender Rose Archway

_Though this collection of letters and entries are primarily drawn from the correspondence between the Phantomhives and their extended family, I would be remiss if I did not feature a chapter (or two) on the most enigmatic of all the Phantomhive servants—Sebastian Michaelis, the right hand man of the Queen’s Watchdog who faithfully served the Phantomhive family from 1886 until the earl’s death on December 19, 1900. One can almost look through the lens of paternal attachment when viewing the relationship of master and servant. After the sudden deaths of Vincent and Rachel Phantomhive, the ten year old earl-to-be underwent a trial of horrors unfit to be transcribed for public viewing._

_Suffice to say, his recruitment of Michaelis is seen by Professor Adam Goldwin, PhD, as one of paternal adoption, wherein the mental strain of authority combined with the childish actuality of youth merge to form an incomplete image. Phantomhive assumed his position as the Queen’s Watchdog after his return home (aged ten) and utilized this Renaissance butler to carry out her majesty’s commands. Yet while documentation proves this enigmatic servant’s impressive array of abilities and learned talents, it gives little in the way of personal information._

_Speculation has been rife that Michaelis was not a British citizen but rather, as his name suggests, a gentleman of French origin (a case Dr. Bartholomew Hastings of Yale University has thoroughly advocated for). It is believed that this insoluble patrician sought asylum in England after the fall of the Second Empire in 1870. The Long Depression that followed devastated much of France’s former nobility, with Dr. Hastings theorizing that Michaelis—as a man of cosmopolitan means, able to recite Shakespeare, Cicero, and François Villon on the spot—might have been a privileged scion who found his life changed after Napoleon III’s exile following the Franco-Prussian War._

_If this can be taken as truth, then the symbiotic relationship between master and servant reads as an orphaned boy needing guidance and a displaced stranger seeking sanctuary. And while many codependent relationships stand on a pillar of salt, this union of necessity helped usher in a revolution of perspicacity as the United Kingdom solidified her position as the world’s premier power._

_Yet the verbal sparring between the two, now preserved through letters and telegrams, show a subservience on Sebastian’s part that is almost satirical—with words so perfectly formed and sentences so eloquently written, it almost reads like a vaudeville or fragmented theater play. With intelligence that rivals his employer’s and the sort of sagacity that can only come from experience, Sebastian weaves an intricate and imperceptible image that cannot be wholly explained._

_Following his master’s abrupt and sudden death in 1900, the abstruse but trusted right hand man resigned his commission with a note to Countess Phantomhive, informing her that he would be returning to his native homeland. Hastings reiterates these parting words as proof of Sebastian’s French origin: after the economic recession of 1873—a period of intense deflation and general financial contraction—France entered into one of its most lavish decades—the decadent and glittering Belle Époque, that combined old world sensibilities and new world sensuality into one heady, fragrant affair of gilded soirees and early 20th century grandeur. Men of promise built vast fortunes on the backs of coal, mining, shipping, railroads, and oil; Sebastian Michaelis, Dr. Hastings argues, would have certainly been one of these figures._

_Alas, the cabalistic past of Sebastian Michaelis may never be uncovered as, following WWI, Phantomhive Manor was temporarily converted into a makeshift hospital. After a surprise raid in 1916, several important documents were stolen from the mansion, alongside heirloom jewels and priceless works of arts. Following the Treaty of Versailles, some of these goods were returned though nothing pertained to the enigmatic life of one of history’s most uncertain black spots._

_Yet these few letters here provide golden clues into the personality, thought process, and character of the man who oversaw the education and lifestyle of the boy who would one day become the abject fascination of scholars and citizens alike. This letter below (written entirely in Sebastian’s own hand) details his resignation to the Countess Phantomhive following his master’s sudden death. Note the polite but poetic parting words and his references to Johann Wolfgang von Goethe’s masterpiece,_ Faust _, as well as John Milton’s epic,_ Paradise Lost.

_The Countess kept this letter though she later admitted in a note to her son, Gabriel, that “I cannot quite explain why I have…[Sebastian] was Ciel’s, his companion and friend and truest advisor, so I cannot explain my own actions in keeping this one letter.” She concludes by reminiscing how “I have often reflected on their strange partnership and particular attachment, [and] how my husband seemed to seethe with longing when he was g[one] for even a moment…I am unsure if I ought to write such things. Perhaps it would be best if I did not.”_

 

My lady Phantomhive,

It must be acknowledged that the passing of my master, your husband, grants you great grief and the sorrow that can only come with embittered loss. My words may be insufficient comfort but I reassure you, my lady, that I have done all I can to keep his life in stasis while he still lived. His was a precious life, one I strove to maintain and polish, tending to his every desirous need with all the haste of hellfire.

I understand that the coroner’s reports were delivered to you during the early hours of dawn and I confess, I am troubled to learn he destroyed your lavender morning with such wretched news. It is a sin to burden you with my sympathy, my lady, but I wish to communicate to you my most ardent regret in having transacted* the passing of such a sapphire soul. 

The earl of Phantomhive was a power that eternally willed evil and continuously performed good and I believe, with unobstructed sincerity, that it was your goodness that enabled him to do so. If I could only borrow from the quill of Shakespeare and print his last words on paper for you, it would be the most beautiful elegy—a scripture of tainted virtue. Yet you must not mourn too greatly, my lady, for his was a life of art—of foreign acquired art—and to have denied him peace (though it came at far too early a time) would have been a cold and cruel imposition.

Nevertheless, it must be stated that the purpose of this letter is to inform you of my permeant resignation. I have paid my pound of flesh, tendered with his consent, and now my contract of red stained ink has finished. I am propelled by a sense of obligation to return to my native homeland and though I do not wish to leave the young masters, I feel that my presence in England would become a hindrance to you in a few short years. Yet you must not think I am departing on the wings of the dove, for I too shall ruminate on the effects this earl has wrought within me. Long and hard is the way out of hell and towards heaven, but I believe, Countess Phantomhive, you have more than enough light to guide yourself—and those around you—there.

In the words of my master, I address this to you— _best of wives and best of women_ —that we must finally part as I bid you a fair and final adieu.

 

With respectful courtesy,

_Sebastian Michaelis_

 

 _Though this is a letter of resignation and secondary expression of loss, Sebastian has infused it with his characteristic pretense of satire. His tone almost borders that of Jonathan Swift’s in_ A Modest Proposal _,_ _derisively (and perhaps a touch caustically) “apologizing” on behalf of the coroner for having interrupted Lady Elizabeth’s “lavender” morning. This can also be seen as a play on the words_ morning _and_ mourning _; if read from this lens, Sebastian is subtly comforting his former mistress by acknowledging that the coroner’s report came at a poor time (when she was “mourning”) and that he regrets the man’s ignorance._

_Yet this empathetic perspective is difficult to accept, particularly if one reads his other letters._

_The statement was no doubt a joke—a derisive, final joke at the expense of the master he loyally served for some fifteen or so years._

_But there is no genuine resentment to be found in this text. Sebastian’s indelicate one-liner may, in fact, be a final salute to the game of words and eloquence he and his master so frequently engaged in. This is further expressed by his cravat in his second to last paragraph, that he is not departing “on the wings of the dove” and that his time with Ciel Phantomhive did, indeed, affect him greatly. This can be further emphasized by his choice of quotes from John Milton’s_ Paradise Lost _, (seen in the third sentence of the second to last paragraph) where he chooses to reflect on the difficulty of redemption as both a gesture of comfort to Lady Phantomhive and to remind himself that a future without his master is still possible._

 _Sebastian’s decision to quote from Goethe’s_ Faust _is an unusual one. Heinrich Faust (the play’s protagonist) lives on borrowed time after making a deal with the devil, Mephistopheles, but manages to elude hellish torment due to his desire to live and is instead escorted to heaven by a phalanx of angels. While this can be seen as another show of empathy by the usually trenchant butler, it also hints at a more unsavory aspect of the Phantomhive legacy. A few scholars have discovered documents that portrayed the earl of Phantomhive as being soulless or having sold his soul to the devil due to the young boy’s tremendous accomplishments at such a young age. While professional academics have dismissed the claim as “fanciful” and “improbable”, New York University professor Winthrop Simmons admits that, while the Faustian aspect is “ridiculous”, it does add a rich, gothic complexity to the image of the earl in the eyes of his contemporaries._

_A more unusual facet of this letter is Sebastian’s word choice. A literary man by nature (or nurture), it is interesting that he chooses the word “transacted” when describing the earl’s death. While the definition of “transacted” connotes the end of a business deal or the execution of a business deal, it is more likely that the butler is adding his own personal grievance in regards to the earl's passing: their contract, one between master and servant, has literally been finished._

 

 _The rest of this chapter consists of letters exchanged between master and servant though a few of them have been altered, destroyed, or re-written. While it is important to note the sharp differences between Victorian and modern day language, the earl and his butler’s letters do veer towards a more loquacious form of familiarity. His younger son, Maixent Phantomhive, in his early editing of_ The Earl, Phantomhive _crossed out entire letters and eliminated whole passages, noting that much of it needed to be “sanitized…and [done so] quickly.”_

_(Appendix D contains more information on the lost letters of Sebastian Michaelis.)_

 

* * *

 

_Enclosed below is an ancestry chart (writ almost entirely in Sebastian’s own hand) of the Phantomhive family:_

Lord Ciel Phantomhive, _Earl Phantomhive_ \- Lady Elizabeth Midford of Scotney

        Lord Gabriel Phantomhive - Lady Isabelle Violet of Grantham

                Lord Vincent Phantomhive II

                Lady Elizabeth Phantomhive

                Lady Angelina Phantomhive

        Brig. Maixent Phantomhive - Miss Emily Vanderbilt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Lavender roses symbolize enchantment, a near supernatural love affair.
> 
> \- Seb’s letter is actually rife with innuendos that he ended Ciel’s life (particularly when he writes “foreign acquired art” = time that’s not his) but since this is “concrete” history, the interpretation has been mistranslated. 
> 
> \- Beginning in the Gilded Age and continuing until WWII, many rich American heiresses married into noble English families in an attempt to enhance their own social standing (since most - but not all - were of the “nouveau riche” class). They were nicknamed the “dollar princesses” of Europe. Famous examples include Consuelo Vanderbilt who married the duke of Manchester (and made popular the term “the heir and the spare”), Lilian Warren Price who wed the duke of Marlborough, and Beatrice Forbes who married the earl of Granard. 
> 
> A/N: Alright, I had to add a second chapter that focused on Seb.


	3. Chaplain and Confessor

This particular chapter of the Phantomhive archives is focused on a subject that has been examined and reexamined by historians, authors, screenplay writers, and the occasional university student researching for their end of the term paper. The love lives of this notorious English family have fueled tabloids and historical fiction for centuries but I have chosen to highlight two particular incidents of romance—one between the earl and his bride-to-be, Lady Elizabeth Midford of Scotney, and the second between the “black butler” Sebastian Michaelis and an unknown woman, most likely Irene Diaz, Victorian London’s most famous soprano.

While the earl and his wife kept a cordial relationship in public, their private life was much more tumultuous. Historical debate now rages over whether or not the Queen’s Watchdog genuinely loved his wife or if courtesy and familial responsibility bound him to her. The young couple, much like Queen Victoria and Prince Consort Albert, were first cousins who grew up together. Elizabeth, or Lizzy as she was commonly called, hailed from one of England’s premier families—the Midfords, an ancient dynasty of knights, generals, and commanders who can trace their lineage to the days of William the Conquerer. The English Midfords fought fiercely against the invading Normans but were eventually defeated by William and his army in the winter of 1065; William, however, was so impressed by Alexander Midford’s ferocity in battle that he offered the fallen knight clemency and a place in his court should he acknowledge him as England’s monarch. Alexander agreed and within a few years, the Order of the British Knights was born—with Alexander at its helm.

Thus the engagement of Elizabeth Midford, a vivacious, high-spirited socialite and societal darling, to England’s most feared nobleman was an expected match. Yet contemporaries remained uneasy; the earl led an underground organization known as the Evil Noblemen who plundered Great Britain for information, vice, and power. Elizabeth Midford was a talented ballet dancer who frequently visited the Paris Opera House and was patron to many women’s shelters. The contrast between the duo was almost comical—the earl was pale skinned, cobalt haired, and sapphire eyed; his fiancée had rosy cheeks, golden curls, and “the loveliest eyes of spring.” (Walter Claymore, _Persephone_ 139) Cheap comics and penny dreadfuls capitalized on this by satirizing the earl’s relationship with his butler, Sebastian, alleging that his ideal bride was “the heinous and beautiful servant he carted around, equally grotesque and lace-veiled…a [perfect] match for sodomy and sin.” (Boys of England 4)

Yet in spite of these persistent rumors, Ciel Phantomhive wed Elizabeth Midford on January 4, 1893 when he was seventeen and she, eighteen. But in the days leading up to the ceremony, the couple engaged in a fierce argument that resulted in the earl storming out of Beckett Hall (the Midfords ancestral castle) with “the blackest expression [on] his countenance…I have never seen his lordship so an[g]ry, he seemed cruel—needlessly cruel.” (Paula Issac _The Maidservent’s Diaries_ )

Through the firsthand accounts of Paula Isaac, Lady Elizabeth’s personal maid and companion, we learn that the tension between the couple was not at all uncommon. What was unusual was Elizabeth’s decision to fight back when usually, she was a happy, contented girl who “always tried to [make] his lordship happy.” (Isaac) Four days later, the earl sent a letter of apology to Elizabeth and the fight was concluded, though the letter itself was destroyed.

The first draft, however, still exists, and was found amongst the earl’s possessions in the autumn of 1914:

 

Elizabeth,

I have neither the time nor the patience to address you with such frivolities. In fact, I write this inside a moving carriage, filled with nothing but frustration and inexplicable regret. For whenever I try to make myself resentful of you, to make myself angry with your presence, I am consumed by a wave of guilt so strong that it crushes my exasperation and fills me with shame. And this enrages me all the more.

I possess wrath, villainy, and hate—though none of it is directed towards you. I am hateful of this whole world and want nothing more than to burn it down though I lack conviction when I say this. I only want to burn my memories and hatred so that I may sleep when the moon falls and wake when the sun rises.

You must know, Elizabeth, that as this day approaches, so does my own personal Armageddon. I have always walked a few steps behind death, a false worshipper of life when secretly, behind Nyx’s knee, I kneel before an alter and pray for the demise of those who once harmed me. You, an earthly saint, have chosen to love me though I deserve no modicum of your tender affections. You shall squander your youth, vitality, and hope on me for I shall only leave you with despair, treachery, and decay. Your unstained heart dreams of a future without tears but should you marry me Elizabeth, you will have nothing but grief and sorrow in your wake.

I am gilt and sin, the lion’s share of cruelty.

I am devoted to my responsibility as Watchdog, to Funtom and my work. I am negligent of you and your desires but _god help me,_ I cannot let you go.

Late at night I dream of setting you free, of unburdening you from this cage, but each and every time I reach for the lock, I am held back by a pulse of unrelenting selfishness and want.

I am Iago, Macbeth, and Claudius. I am Tarquin, for I will steal from you your sanctity and your virtue.

Will you still love me then, Lizzy? Will you still care for me when my porcelain masque breaks and the monstrosity of a thousand sins comes rushing forth?

Let it be known that I am filled with regret at having spoken to you so cruelly, for I meant none of things I said. It is only this ceremony that fills me with dread; every time I look at you, every time I gaze into your eyes, I see everything I shall have to leave behind and _Elizabeth,_ you are so dear to me that I would rather have you alone than by my side.

I want your warm hands around mine, I want to impress your touch into my skin so that later, in cold death, I might not be alone.

 

The letter here is unsigned and undated. The hurried, almost rushed, language of the first few sentences indicate the earl’s frustration but his subsequent paragraphs are filled with subtle references towards literature, not history (something the earl is known to have preferred). Recent analysis by Dr. Anatol Wexner of Heidelberg University show that most of these references (derived from classical literature, English literature, and fairytale motifs) were chosen specifically by the earl because these were the stories Lady Elizabeth most enjoyed. As part of the Victorian aesthetic, young ladies of stature did not read dense histories and philosophies but instead, enjoyed poetry and literature. Lady Elizabeth was especially fond of fairytales and on the fifteen birthday, the earl gave her a gilt-edged tome of Grimm’s Fairy Tales.

Here, in the last sentence of the letter, Ciel references one of the Grimm Brothers most famous stories— _The Handless Maiden,_ which tells of a girl so pure and good that virtue and love moved the angels to give her back her hands (which had been cut off by her father, who had made a deal with the devil). This plays a significant role in how Ciel saw his bride-to-be, as this angelic being who was a direct juxtaposition to his dark life as the Queen’s Watchdog. The earl’s past grief directly correlates to the horror of his tenth birthday, when he was kidnapped by vengeful cultists and subjected to a torture so graphic that I have been asked by my editors to refrain from transcribing it.

The psychological damage on the earl (as a child) was immense and this was only doubled by his life-threatening occupation of serving the queen. He underscores the fragility of his life several times in the letter and seems to go into a bit of a schizophrenic meltdown, alternating between _leave_ and _stay._ He gives Elizabeth reasons for why she shouldn’t remain by his side and then promptly negates these points by admitting he can’t let her go. The earl’s selfishness and desperation are two key components of his psyche; it’s what drove him in his work as the Queen’s Watchdog and it’s also what drives him in this letter. The thought of marriage terrifies Ciel because it reminds him that everything he’s getting—a wife, a home, the possibility of a family—can be easily taken away by death.

The earl’s cynicism is so great—he is _so sure_ that he will be unable to live a satisfactory life—that he even compares himself to Tarquin, from William Shakespeare’s _The Rape of Lucrece._ In this narrative poem, Roman solider Tarquin is so blinded by Lucrece’s beauty that he rapes her, stealing away her chastity and destroying her virtue. Ciel then reflects this back on himself but instead of stealing Elizabeth’s chastity, he will steal away her happiness; and instead of “raping” her virtue, he will destroy her innocence—not physically, but through the clandestine evils that come with being the Queen’s Watchdog. This is a very dark moment in the letter that have led historians, with Dr. Andrew Kendall leading the way, to claim that Ciel’s sense of fatality was very much a self-fulfilling prophecy—something that is fiercely debated in the academic world.

Acrimony is rife in this unedited, unsent letter. Historian Winthrop Simmons of New York University explains the earl’s unusual openness by emphasizing that this letter was never meant to be seen. “It was a draft that was purposely discarded and forgotten…the earl didn’t want people to see it—in fact, he didn’t even send this to his fiancée. This was him pouring out everything he’s always kept inside because the prospect of marriage, of building a family when his own family was so cruelly taken away, frightened him more than words could ever express.” (Simmons, _A Verbal Transcription of History_ 224)

It should also be noted that the earl references the Book of Revelation early on in the letter when he writes about his own demise (“…as this day approaches, so does my own personal Armageddon”) before lifting verses from _The Rape of Lucrece._ This sudden contrast highlights the impulsiveness of the letter, which lacks the earl’s usual calculated coldness and repression. Sadly, Lady Elizabeth’s response to this letter has been lost—most likely another victim of the WWI raids that occurred in 1916.

Edit: following this newest edition, questions have abounded as to how the earl’s letters remained whole while the countess’s vanished. The answer is two worded, Sebastian Michaelis. The butler kept all of the earl’s correspondence, beginning from 1887 to 1900 and later gave them to the earl’s firstborn son, Gabriel Phantomhive, for safekeeping. Whether or not Sebastian ever planned on retrieving them is unknown. (Appendix B contains Dr. Matilda Ryder’s theory of Sebastian Michaelis and WWII.)

 

* * *

 

The following letter, writ by Sebastian Michaelis, was donated to England’s National Archives by Lady Helena Phantomhive, the only child of Maixent and Emily Phantomhive, in 1967. Procurement of the letter became a problem as, in the autumn of 1967, it was stolen while on route to the University of Manchester by 23 year old Persephone Rothchester, a diamond heiress who claimed she was the reincarnated version of Michaelis’s lover. In the ensuing court case, Rothchester attempted to destroy the letter and succeeded in damaging the last few lines which, to this day, are untranslatable. Linguistics professor Louisa Atkins believe the last paragraph to have been written in ancient Basque, a language not used outside northern Spain. As a result, the last paragraph of this letter has been omitted, though a photograph of the whole letter can found in Appendix A, Section 4.

The letter, dated the 15th of October, 1892 is written in an elaborate but intimate tone, suggesting that this was a longstanding correspondence. Sebastian never uses Irene’s name formally but addresses her as _Usoa,_ Basque for “dove”.

 

 _Maitea usoa_ * _,_

My lavender tome. Throughout these past few days I have been plagued by a need for intimacy, for the temperate caress of your hand and the amaranth pink of your mouth. The full, rosebud mouth that opens for song and lyric, tantalizing my baser appetite until I find myself outside your dressing room door, awaiting your return. I desire, with an urgency that borders on madness, to ruin the soft tranquility of your gowns—to rip them from your snow glass body until you are in my arms, bare and heartbreakingly beautiful. Every inch of you—unmarred perfection, a eulogy from the heavens as you wrap your arms around me and I hoist you up so that you may feel me, hold me, _touch me._

Those fragile hands that have never been meant for hard labor, ivory palms and lithe fingers, trail down my chest, nails scraping the flesh... _let me bleed_ —leave the world a physical proclamation of your ownership. Shed your mystery for a little while longer; let me glimpse past the meringue soft smile and so I amy search for the elusive silk of your soul. A thousand honeyed secrets rest on the tip of your tongue, the tongue that teases with enigmatic charm and stirs to life my own curiosity. 

Would you blush, just a light dusting of pink across your fair cheek, as I move inside you? Move with me while your lips brush against my neck—dearest dove, is that a sigh I hear? Your arms lock me an embrace of sweet lavender and the soft roundness of your breasts press against my chest as you rock forward, legs wrapped around my hips and _rhythm, usoa, my intemperate blossom._

Catch your breath, unlace your dress as you read this. If I can inspire in you a desire that burns with the ache Helen had for her Paris, then I would ask that you lift your skirts and allow your fingers to find the eden between your thighs. 

Moan for me as your forefinger brushes against that soft mound there, press against it and think of my mouth kissing your sweet wet folds. How are you doing it? Is your back pressed against your dressing room door, your breathing shallow and unsure? Are your cheeks flushed? Do you feel a bloom of heat spreading through your body as you plunge deeper, deeper, _deeper_ still but can find no satisfaction? (I smile when I think of your trembling body, so ready for the taking.)  

Then let your touch go so I may fill you wholly, my hands bruising your apple white skin, marring you for all of London society to see. Let a sigh escape those rose petal lips, whisper my name.

 

_Sebastian_

 

The erotism of this letter, punctured with formality and references of spring, give historians a bird’s eye view into the games of lust and power played between Sebastian and Miss Irene Diaz. Noted for her various lovers (including Wallace Hollingbrook, the earl of Southhampton) it is surprising, to modern eyes, that such a resonant beauty would choose a mere butler as her most cherished lover. Few knew of their love affair and as a result, there are next to no firsthand accounts of their relationship apart from their letters to one another.

This letter in particular is one of the “lighter” covenants exchanged between the two though it offers an insightful look into their respective mindsets. The most telling detail is Sebastian’s choice of words; he frequently associates Miss Diaz with mystery, flowers (particularly lavender, which symbolizes refinement, grace, and elegance), and shades of white.

White, one of the most elusive light particles, reiterates Sebastian’s point—Miss Diaz herself is a cryptogram that is both vulnerable (like the delicacy of a flower blossom) and intriguing. His words are consciously chosen and lack the usual derogatory tone most of his correspondence carries; while he uses several lustful analogies (whilst knowing they are far apart), this seems to be more of a lover’s repartee than a degradation of her character or sex.

The poetry and superfluous tone used by Sebastian suggests that perhaps, behind his polished veneer, he still yearns to impress—to ensure that his lover can find no fault in him. Several scholars, including Dr. Bartholomew Hastings, have posited that Earl Phantomhive’s right hand man may have had a modified form of the Napoleon Complex, where his attempts to overcompensate in _everything_ disguises his inner sense of insecurity. The truth of this theory has not been confirmed since there are so few letters written by Sebastian and even fewer that offer a glimpse into his indecipherable heart.

As previously mentioned, the last paragraph of this letter—written in ancient Basque—has been destroyed, though linguistics professor Louisa Atkins insists that the last few lines were a reference to their respective namesakes. Sebastian, an avid historian and intellectual (whether by birth, schooling, or insistence), may have jokingly commented on their “past lives” in the Christian tradition. In the third century, Saint Sebastian was a Roman solider who martyred himself during the reign of Emperor Diocletian. After Diocletian discovered that Sebastian was a Christian, he ordered the solider to be tied at the stake and shot through with arrows. This, however, did not kill him as Saint Irene of Rome came to heal and nurture Sebastian back to health. This tale of rescue and sacrifice mimics the sort of dark humor Sebastian Michaelis, the butler, was prone to using though his own affiliations with religion remain uncertain.

 

* _Maitea usoa_ : the closest translation to English would be “dearest dove” or “darling dove”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Chaplain: a private confessor 
> 
> A/N: Just wanted to say Happy New Year kiddies! I finally took some time and decided to begin updating all my uncompleted stories, starting with The Phantomhive Archives! The Sebastian/Irene thing wasn’t supposed to be included but…dorkshadows…what have you done to me LOL


	4. A Prosecution of Sensibility

Despite having first published this text in 1969, I find myself revisiting this chapter time and time again for the simple, curious reason of necessity. It would be impossible to write an account of Ciel Phantomhive without referencing his butler of fourteen years Sebastian Michaelis, but the very fact that we have so little evidence regarding said butler is a paradox of a problem. Due to the fact that both master and servant were always by each other’s side, there was no need for written correspondence. Furthermore, Michaelis had no family in England and France, his supposed country of origin, was in a major transitory phase (moving from the Long Depression into the Belle Époque), thus making any letters he could have sent home impossible to locate. 

However, the few published records of Sebastian’s correspondence we do have are addressed to Lord Phantomhive’s paternal aunt, Marchioness Frances Midford of Scotney. The value of these letters cannot be understated—they are part of the very few pieces of textual evidence that references both Sebastian’s relationship with his master as well as Lord Phantomhive’s duty as Watchdog of the queen. This first missive is startlingly clear—almost blunt—in its description of his employer’s health, mindset, and character but what must be noted is the informal, almost dismissive, tone.

The letter, written in March 1886 just two months after the earl’s miraculous return, is riddled with informal quips and jests that are _completely absent_ in his second letter, written in February 1889 after his first in-person meeting with the marchioness. “It’s almost comical,” writes historian and author David Kilgore in his controversial biography of Michaelis, “that a man regarded as both myth and legend could behave in such an insipid and moronic manner…[Sebastian Michaelis] in all his vain and infinite self-glorification, thoroughly believed himself so superior to those around him (despite having no past, title, or modest sensibilities) that he never considered the possibility of repudiation. He was so completely unaware of the unique exception that was Lady Frances Midford (née Phantomhive) that he thought of her almost entirely in the abstract—the distant relation of his lord and master, a person he is obligated to show some form of deference to but actually considers less than himself…[Furthermore] he dismisses her outright because of a prejudice that has followed the female sex since the dawn of time: weak-minded inferiority. Indeed, he writes this first letter with such facetious carelessness that one truly does wonder: how horrified and utterly mortified must Sebastian Michaelis have been when he was forced to compose a second letter, three years later, all the while knowing how cavalier and insolent his first missive had been?”

 

My most esteemed Lady of Midford,

I apologize for my rather sudden and succinct appearance into the lives of the most venerated knights of England fair but I am afraid it cannot be helped. What with my master’s sudden interest in the duties of his predecessor I have been relegated to informing all his relations of his condition and status following his Long Excursion.

Though my lord and master be weak in bodily strength he more than compensates with a mind that is as sharp as his tongue—though such moments are often interspaced with tantrums of momentous banality that I find both tedious and commonplace. His jejune behavior towards the finer aspects of noble life is a rather inelegant one but I suppose such infantile behavior cannot be helped. The rosy-cheeked dew of youth clings onto him still and I would not be surprised if these bouts of childish insignificance are done only to garner attention from those whose esteem he so secretly wishes to receive. Alas, I must reiterate the austerity of the noblesse he so rejects when I say there is brilliance in my young charge as well as excess. He is selfish and self-indulgent—and I find these particular characteristics a rather curious facet that I shall endeavor to cultivate. After all, the necessity of survival spurs on our sins does it not?

However, I am delighted to report that his skill in geometry, mathematics, the sciences (particularly physics, not so much biology), foreign languages, and political history have met the requirements of one who now bears the burden of an ignorant country. Whether or not he possesses ability in the cultural arts, I cannot say. He has shown some talent for the violin, little interest in art (both sculpture and painting), a thinly veiled distaste for poetry, and reads only from the archives of the first Lord Phantomhive. I suppose if I were to summarize my young master in a sentence of simplistic brevity it would be this: He is an earl whose duties are singular, whose mindset is astigmatic, and who, I believe, will find great enjoyment in the completion of his desires.

And as you have requested that I detail my personal experience in caring for the lives of nobles with blood so blue, I am afraid such an archive will be difficult to produce. The lives of those worth living have already been experienced and they are now breathing the sweetness of rest. Nevertheless, if you will allow me to indulge in a bit of pageantry, I will confess that my credentials as tutor, butler, guard, and overseer are well-worn titles of particular distinction. They are titles I have worn across both the Continent and the Americas and they are titles that I shall utilize to the best of my infinite ability when conferring with the little lord.

 

With sincere and absolute regard,

_S. Michaelis_

 

The insolence of this letter can be seen from the very opening in which Sebastian fails to address Lady Frances as ’marchioness of Scotney’ but purposely uses a more familiar and intimate title, ‘Lady of Midford’—an address that only someone of a higher rank may use when writing to the marchioness. This is then followed by a blasé and utterly insincere “apology” that appears to be more of a formality than an actual expression of human remorse. 

Furthermore this letter is meant to be  _introductory,_ an explanation and assessment of character to be judged and examined. To ignore the officialism of such a request is thus a very blatant act of disregard where Sebastian simply bypasses the marchioness’s request for nearly 3/4 of the letter before adding, at the very last paragraph, “I will confess that my credentials as tutor, butler, guard, and overseer are well-worn titles of particular distinction.” This is neither an admission of his abilities nor is it an explanation of how he came into the earl’s service but rather a boastful and somewhat haughty attempt to rebuke the marchioness for daring to “question” his prowess. The letter itself is just shy of mockery but at the very end there is a harsh bout of spitefulness that suddenly appears, almost as if Sebastian felt slighted in having anyone demand anything from him.

While some historians, such as Lucille Fujiwara of Brown University, have attributed this to Michaelis's tendency to speak in a manner that toes the line between wit and impudence, others such as Lord Christopher Courtwright have written a more direct response: "Perhaps it is not difficult to see," Courtwright contemplates in a 1952 letter of debate, "why the man known as Sebastian Michaelis has behaved in such a manner. Born to a life of luxuriant aristocracy and privilege, he was educated as all nobles were: that he was inherently better than those who possessed titles inferior to himself—particularly since France has historically been an autocratic and absolute monarchy. Louis XIV left his legacy with both Versailles and absolutism and the sons of great nobles would have been taught that rhetoric as well. Is it any wonder that the cool brilliance of Mr. Michaelis both enchants and infuriates?...To him, survival must have been a necessity, it simply must have been, for him to degrade himself so low." 

Others, such as Dr. Jemima Cross of the University of Colorado, Boulder, felt that Sebastian's antagonism towards the marchioness was not born out of malice or spite but rather his own (admittedly brazen) attempt to assess the earl's own family. "The paternalism between Ciel and Sebastian cannot be understated," Cross writes in her book of essays  _Master & Brother, _"while we do not know Sebastian's date of birth we can assume he was in his late 20s to early 30s when he arrived in England. The earl himself was only ten years old and without immediately family; thus the probability of patrimonial affection could very well have been shifted from his father onto Sebastian...the protectiveness of father and son cannot be ignored and is indeed exemplified in this letter by Lord Charles Phipps, secretary to Queen Victoria, when he writes to his colleague John Brown,  _For all his exhibitionism, the butler Michaelis is one of efficiency and fair judgement_. This, then, does not sound the least bit like the sort of character who would then go on to espouse such vulgarities to the Marchioness of Scotney simply out of  _spite_." (Cross 42) 

Nevertheless, this indignation is most painfully highlighted in the opening sentence of the fourth paragraph: “And as you have requested that I detail my personal experience…I am afraid such an archive will be difficult to produce”, further emphasizing how Sebastian had not forgotten the marchioness’ request but that he has simply chose to ignore it until the very end. Yet even here his spite continues when he suggests that his abilities are simply far too great to catalogue, such as when he uses the term “archive” to describe his lengthy accomplishments (that he never truly articulates). It is an incredibly un-subtle way of showboating his capabilities by claiming his prolific knowledge constitutes not a shelf or a library but an entire archive. 

Contrast this, then, with the letter Sebastian sends Lady Frances three years later, after their first official meeting. The language is infinitely more formal, lacks completely the playful (almost derisive) edge of the previous missive, and the witticisms of suppressed superiority are entirely absent. Rather then blunt admissions, Sebastian resorts to formal hints, such as when he writes, rather curiously, “I find that the brilliance or flavor of his conscience could be much seasoned upon”, indicating that the earl still has much to learn from the marchioness—though why he chose words “flavor” and “seasoned” have never been fully understood.

 

The Most Honorable Marchioness of Scotney, the Lady Frances Midford,

I have enclosed, as you have requested, a formal schedule of Earl Phantomhive’s activities for the next week hence as well as a possible timetable for when he is to the leave the country at the behest of her majesty, the queen. In addition I have maintained that any and all correspondence bearing your particular seal of letters will be brought before the earl specifically rather than relegated by myself or any of the other servants.

It was a formidable pleasure to have met and spoken to you in person, my lady, and I must reiterate—my sincerity was of the utmost verity when I said that my master could hope to learn from your skill and performance. It has been many a year since I have borne witness to a markswoman such as yourself and I suspect it shall be many more years before another lady of distinguish eclipses you. Indeed, the bonds of familial obligation bring about the most curious transformations in youth. For while my lord possesses more than the necessary intelligence to complete his given tasks, I find that the brilliance or flavor of his conscience could be much seasoned upon.

It is with great tribute and distinction that I thank you for your attendance at tea this afternoon.

 

Regards,

_S. Michaelis_

 

PS, I shall endeavor to try and keep my unkempt appearance to a minimum. Your pointed and rigorous reproach has certainly educated me on the particularities of English servitude and I wish, truly wish, that I would have been informed of these idiosyncrasies before coming into the earl’s service.

 

PPS, I have cleared, as you requested, a slot in Earl Phantomhive’s schedule to allow the Lady Elizabeth to arrive in time for tea. As per your other request, I have omitted this news from his daily briefing. 

 

Perhaps the most amusing part of this rather serious letter is Sebastian’s first postscript. The marchioness, a strict and particular woman who prized tidiness and personal hygiene in an era where bathing was still a foreign concept, abhorred the rakish almost Casanova-like appearance of Sebastian Michaelis. He was rumored to have ink-black hair and long bangs that hung roguishly about his eyes and face (Winthrop Simmons, _A Verbal Transcription of History_ 15) and it was an appearance the marchioness detested. The somewhat jocose quip of “Your pointed and rigorous reproach” no doubt refers to Lady Frances’ tendency to carry a comb with her at all times to “tidy up” what she considered “slovenly” hairstyles and appearances.

Yet even more humorous is what is written after that. Sebastian writes a rather loquacious sentence where he laments not knowing the “idiosyncrasies” of the English noblesse though that, Professor Hannah Sather reveals, is more of an attack on Ciel Phantomhive than anyone else. “The earl was a very particular person,” she explains in her essay _The Necessities and Eccentricities of Victorian Nobles, 1870 to 1900._ “He expected things to be conducted in a fashion that appeased only his eye and, in fact, the early years of servitude between master and butler were more of a battleground of ideology than compromise.” This is further reiterated in a 1889 letter by the Phantomhive maid Mey-Rin to her co-worker (and Phantomhive footman) Snake. Here she writes, “Oh you don’t have to worry much about the young master’s temperament—Mr. Sebastian worked out the details years ago…[which] explains why there are a few teacups missing from the West Dining Room.” This, no doubt, refers to the earl’s infamous temper and his tendency to throw or break things when his mood was particularly black. (Sather, _The Necessities_ 83)

Interestingly enough this letter, received by the marchioness not two days later, was kept in a cupboard by her personal maid, Penelope, and only discovered in 1942 by London police, who had been clearing aside rubble after the year long German Blitz. Midford Castle, which had taken relatively light damage, found its libraries and archives almost undisturbed though there were no other letters by Michaelis to be found.

 

* * *

 

And though the debate for whether or not there exists more letters by Sebastian Michaelis still rages on, I would very much like to suggest that these few pages we have may be all that’s left. In a recently excavated fragment of a March 1899 letter writ by Ciel Phantomhive (found in the underground catacombs of Phantomhive Manor), the earl reveals:

 

…as I have kept it so. Nevertheless, there will be nothing left. Your legacy will be nothing more than a distant impression, growing fainter with time until, at long last, it ceases. Ink and paper will hold no memory that fire cannot destroy and I do not think myself sentimental enough to withhold any particular repartee from the flames. After all, I can feel my time drawing near…[unintelligible script]…[but] The journey will not be long—perhaps another day or two if the weather holds. I expect a household intact when I return.

Enclosed below are the trinkets and playthings I thought they [Gabriel and Maixent] might find amusing. The chiffon and porcelain doll are for—[unintelligible script] see to it that Elizabeth does not overexert herself. Even at this late stage of pregnancy when most women bemoan and decry their fate, Elizabeth moves with such sprightly grace and animated virtue that I find myself half in fear for her safety—particularly when I am not there to see otherwise.

Lastly, I have also attached a parcel of some carnage in a separate package that will no doubt lead us to the coast of—[unintelligible script]

 

Here it is strongly hinted that whatever letters the earl received from Sebastian were promptly destroyed—most likely to ensure full secrecy. The simple reason for such an act, while frustrating for modern day historians, held a practical purpose: during the earl’s later years, he often instructed Sebastian to remain at Phantomhive Manor to guard his wife and children while he journeyed to either Buckingham or Downing Street to file his Watchdog’s Report or receive the queen’s orders.

Yet even in this short excerpt there is something revealing and almost vulnerable about this iron-hearted Watchdog who history has painted as both victim and villain. While the pregnancies of Lady Elizabeth were guarded secrets known only by those who lived in the Phantomhive household, they were also relatively easy labors that resulted in few difficulties for either mother or child. Yet the third and final pregnancy of Elizabeth Phantomhive was something of the grotesque and infinitely horrible. Around 1899, a year before the earl’s death, influenza spread throughout London and hundreds died as a result. Amongst the victims was a pregnant Lady Elizabeth and both her sons, Gabriel and Maixent. The earl, away in New York on the queen’s behalf, returned to find his sons recovered but his wife, almost certainly suffering from postpartum septicemia, and his newborn daughter on the verge of death.

The child—whose name was never disclosed for public record—died three days later.

The tragedy is made all the more so when one reads the earl’s words here in this fragment. Note the suppressed concern he has for his wife combined with the list of purchased gifts—for a man as brusque and indecipherable as Ciel Phantomhive, the useless excess of chiffon and dolls should have never crossed his mind. But the very fact that it did signified a man who longed, whether consciously or not, for a family he secretly cherished and the concern for his wife, springing from the entirety of the second paragraph, hints at a fondness that, while never openly expressed, was there nonetheless.

 

* * *

  

Note: The more unintelligible/indecipherable parts of the letter were no doubt due to the 1940 and ’41 Blitzkrieg that leveled half of Phantomhive Manor, including the earl’s personal library and staterooms. In fact, very few personal items of the earl survive today. Most artifacts are in the form of books, such as his copy of Niccolò Machiavelli’s _The Prince_ (written in its native Italian) which also contain the earl’s personal annotations, and his first edition copy of Hugo Grotius _On the Law of War and Peace._ This was also the very text the earl used when studying for his Bar Vocational Course (or, as we now call it today, the Bar Professional Training Course) though he never worked as a lawyer in practice, despite what some sources seem to suggest.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Downing Street: a street in London known for housing the official residencies of the Prime Minister and Chancellor of the Exchequer. 
> 
> A/N: Hello folks! I apologize for long and lengthy yearlong absence from this fic but my muse (always fickle) recently popped back into my life so I could finally update XD
> 
> (And yes this chapter was me fangirling over Frances Midford but I just miss this queen so much - come back Frances...come baaaaack) 
> 
> I also headcanon that somewhere along the way Ciel took the bar exam and became a lawyer just because he could. Like he already owns a multibillion dollar business, manages multiple English estates, and serves directly under Queen Victoria so why not throw barrister/lawyer onto the list as well? LOL 
> 
> Reviews and feedback always appreciated :)


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